The Young Dreamer
by Sutter Finicky
Summary: Arturo lives a life of endless drab repetition, sprinkled in between are moments of hope and color. [ONE SHOT]


"Ah, Lianos" Arturo took one big nostril breath "makes Tatooine look like Paradise City." Art hated this place, if he could scrounge up the funds he'd take the first transport off this rock. Unfortunately, the only thing he'd find in his pockets if he were to dip his copper-skinned hands inside are pocket lint and sand. Arturo could swear the occasional strong gusts of wind would blow right into his mouth and he'd chew and taste the bitter, crunchy granular substance.

"Where are you Margot?" He's been waiting outside the mechanics door for about an hour now. Normally he'd go inside to check, but he and Mr. Powers have had a recent falling out... Art tried to ask his daughter out on a date, before she could respond Powers swooped in and gave the teenagers clock a good cleaning. Nobody wants a street rat near their flesh and blood.

"And another thing!" Margot barked back at a already cursing Mr. Powers. "Your merchandise sucks!" She slammed the door, cursed some more, and walked away.

"What was that about?" Arturo inquires. Mr. Powers was supposed to supply Margot with 250 credits for the shipment of watches and bracelets delivered to his store just yesterday morning.

"He won't pay us." She hissed. "Then threatened to call the police." This stuff always happened on deliveries. People here treated the lowly merchants like dirt and relished doing so.

"Let's hit him where it hurts." Arturo proposed. Margot solemnly shook her head. "His store is under serious protection, we'll be embalmed the day after." She tells him. Arturo begins to curse "Damn!" He was sick of this. "Every day somebody new screws us!"

"Not much we can do about it, except ruin Powers' reputation amongst our ilk." She supposes. "C'mon, they need our help at the market."

Only thing Lianos was famous for besides being a waste of space, was its flea markets. Seriously, you couldn't find better knockoff wears if you searched anywhere else. Growing up the son of designers of wallets, handbags and various clothing items, Arturo fancies himself quite skillful deceiving people into believing they were buying the real high brow stuff. While Art mostly made the goods, Margot sold them on the street like a carnival barker. "The best, the warmest fabric in the galaxy at the cheapest price!" She'd repeat endlessly until closing time.

"I think Conner is almost out of wallets." Margot seemed to have lightened up at the news, she never let a failed business transaction bother her for too long. Like missing the 7:10train, the 7:20was just around the corner. "That's good news, almost makes up for the money Powers didn't pay us."

"I'm sick and tired of this Margot." Arturo said again. "My dad is very sick and I can't afford the best care for him as it is."

"I keep telling you, that's a nice story, but people here just don't care." That last line was like a knife being stabbed in his back, made worse by the fact he wasn't wrong. People on Lianos looked out for themselves and themselves only. The most beautiful people were the ones most likely to do the ugliest of things. "But that doesn't mean I don't care." She reiterates. "We'll get your dad the care he needs, I promise." Judging by her tone, Arturo chose to believe her.

"Thanks, M." He says truthfully.

The flea market was pretty busy today - and quite raucous. People climbed over one another for items you'd think were the last can of beans in a super market, the people resembled a mob gathering for the upcoming storm. "What's going on here?" Arturo and Margot had to fight through tons of people to reach the front desk.

"Thank goodness you're here!" Conner was sweating profusely, his clothes are hanging off his body. Oh, he couldn't bare to hear another shout in his general direction. "These people are killing me!"

"You owe me a refund!" One customer said, holding up his slowly falling apart wallet in front of Conner's face. "No!" Conner gestured to the sign on the table "'NO REFUNDS'" but the mob wasn't having it.

"Art, you're going to have to make these people... ALL these people new stuff." The request took Art for a loop. How flippant was Conner in his wording, how arrogant is it to think he can design "new stuff" so fast. "If you don't, I think our heads will be on pikes." Conner whisperers. Nodding, Arturo grabbed his kit and went on designing new... whatever it is the people wanted and he'd likely receive no thank you for doing it either. The hours ticked by, the unforgiving summer sun started to descend, not before Arturo shakily handed over the last piece of merchandise. "My fingers..." he stuttered, not knowing exactly how to ask for help. Conner went to grab some ice, while Margot went to get him something to eat.

"Might as well shelf that for later." Arturo stops her. "I don't have any money and neither do you." Margot did indeed stop, it pained her to see Arturo's fingers on the verge of bleeding out and to hear his stomach roar like a rancor that's just been poked with a sharp stick. "I hate this place." He told her for what must've been the thousandth time, needless to say he meant it more and more as he repeated it.

"Margot!" Conner calls from the stand that sells show-heads. "I need you!" Margot rolls her eyes, lecturing Conner how they couldn't afford a new shower-head, despite their current one having the water pressure of some poor soul drooling all over himself. Meanwhile, Arturo was left to keep the ice cubes placed on his fingertips to keep them the burning sensation down. Art felt that at any minute his fingers could just detach from his hand, the tension in his body was noticeable from how he squirmed and mumbled under his breath.

Trying to distract himself, he gazed his sights on the passers by needlessly hustling from one stand to the next, eager to give their hard earned cash for products they likely have no use for at all. But given what Arturo was selling, he wasn't in any place to judge or elevate himself.

The men let everyone knew who was there's by having their hands' rest calmly on the backs or around the shoulder of their partner. The sight somewhat breaks Arturo every time. He's never experienced the feeling of a woman letting herself be labeled as his property. Partially a response to a universe that treats its people so poorly is people feel they must prove and showcase their worth every second to some invisible Force.

However, an object caught the eye and the interest of the young Arturo... a laser sword clipped perfectly to the belt of one, tall, long-haired gentleman. What's a Jedi doing here? The war never came within a kilometer of Lianos, partially because nobody wanted the headache of juggling an inept political system and people who just wanted jobs. Nobody thought about the war here; the war never thinks about them.

The person on the left side of the Jedi stopped Arturo's thought process. While the Jedi appeared young, his rugged frame and face presented the exterior of someone well seasoned, the person next to him looked wide-eyed inexperienced. Albeit, her blue eyes were beauties to say the least. "Wow" Arturo never seen a woman look so vibrant, so confident before. You could tell just from her upright posture, the way she looks directly at whomever is talking and... did she just roll her eyes at who Arturo believes to be her superior? Guess you can add "Sass" to the list of qualities that made Arturo's mouth water.

This wasn't what normal people did when they saw a girl they liked, Arturo knew what he was doing now bordered on the line of stalking. She'll leave soon, he figured, as long as she doesn't catch his gazing, then no harm, no foul, right?

She encapsulated the youthful innocence sorely lacking on Lianos, leading Arturo to believe there's no way she's remotely from here. Togrutas weren't uncommon on Lianos, just most lacked color and looked like they were just thrown into a wood chipper over and over.

Margot returned, dropping a box of shower-heads. "Hey!" Her peppy tone did more than take Arturo's focus off his dream girl. "Guess we're selling shower-heads now," she shrugs "Conner seems very invested in the idea. Eh, maybe. People need to shower, amirite?" She giggles before seeing Arturo could care less what they sold.

"Watches, handbags, wallets, scarfs and now shower-heads... oh, yeah, our store has a clear identity." Arturo comments dryly. But who honestly cares? In this business you sell whatever it is you can get your hands on.

And just like that they were gone. Back are the boring, grey faces lacking any characteristics besides somber. Returning home, the market closes at midnight, Arturo came home greeted by silence. Everyone was asleep. Dishes piled up in the sink, he sighed, nobody respects this house enough. He complains. It takes him an hour to spruce the modestly sized hut to be dirtied the next day. The window in his room gave him the most sparkling view of the full moon in the clear dark sky. It's shine made his eyes twinkle slightly. Tomorrow he'd wake up and start the whole process over again, it's the littlest things that give Arturo hope his life isn't all meaningless repetition.


End file.
